Chapter 53
CHAPTER
THE SAFEWAY LOT is full, so I park across the street. Before I go in, I write the college, tell them I’ve been hacked and that Luc never tried to steal my work. Maybe he’ll get his job back but there’s no guarantee. Another of Aletheia’s victims. But it’s all my fault.
I put the car in doggy mode for Sally, a cartoon dog joyfully bouncing across the Tesla’s screen, then reach over the seat and hug her.
“I love you to infinity,” I tell my dog.
She nuzzles into my neck like she knows I need comfort, then settles on her bed.
As I head toward the grocery store, I hear the car mirrors fold behind me as the Tesla automatically locks.
“Penn?”
I turn. It’s Heather Crosby. A month ago, I would’ve run, but now let her catch up. She looks put together as usual, in an off-white cashmere sweater and matching pants, Prada loafers with gold buckles on her feet, hair recently blown out, and makeup subtle but perfect.
“Penn. I’ve wanted to call,” Heather says in a rush.
I’m too exhausted to engage, but we walk together toward the entrance.
She tentatively asks, “How have you been?”
“Fine.” I grab a cart and push it toward the fresh produce.
Heather follows me. “I’m sure you saw …” her voice trails off.
I glance over. Her chin is trembling. “Saw what?”
“On LivLoud?” she asks, like she’s leading the witness during a trial.
“I’m not on the app much these days.”
“How did you get through it? Bruce’s affair?”
She asks so sincerely that I stop walking. “Did Hal …?” She shakes her head, but seems so downtrodden that, despite everything, I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Heather’s shoulders curl inward and she suddenly looks her age.
“It doesn’t matter … everyone knows now.
Someone got into my email. They found a very personal letter.
Somehow, they pinned it to my page on LivLoud.
I still haven’t been able to get it taken down despite the tech team’s efforts.
The letter was sent to me by the San Francisco Cryobank.
I have three embryos there. The bank asked if I wanted to keep paying or dispose of them. ”
Heather is older than me, a different generation. I lightly touch her arm. “There’s no shame in doing IVF.”
“It mentioned the use of a sperm donor.”
It takes me a second to compute. But it didn’t take Aletheia any time.
Hal’s sons aren’t biologically his. My insides curdle.
I have all of Heather’s passwords on my computer—they’re in my friend folder.
In the past I’ve helped her with technical issues and posted on LivLoud when she needed someone to make reels of the company’s events. I made it so easy for Aletheia.
“Hal is beyond humiliated. The boys are upset, naturally. They think we lied to them. Which we did.”
Aletheia agrees. Karmaquences. But this is on me. I unleashed her. I meet Heather’s gaze. “You did nothing wrong. Your boys will understand that, in time.”
“I called this celebrity psychologist, Dr. Beth, for advice. I listen to her from time to time, even though there’s a huge petition to get her canceled. Despite her past and going over the top now and then when callers need a kick in the hind end, I think she’s usually sensible.”
“What did she say?”
“That our boys are lucky to be loved.”
“She’s right.”
Heather pulls a tissue from her sleeve, blows her nose.
“I should’ve called you. I knew about Bruce and Mackenzie.
Not until he brought her on a trip Hal and I planned.
Shock of my life seeing her strut out to the pool in a bikini.
Hal swore me to secrecy. He said it wasn’t my business.
Told me I couldn’t ruin a happy marriage.
But it was boys’ club bullshit, pardon my French.
I could’ve given you a chance to get a lawyer, have a head start on Bruce.
He would’ve deserved it. I’m very sorry. ”
“Thank you.” Heather isn’t a bad person, despite what Aletheia believes. She just took the easy way out.
“Lunch sometime?” Heather asks.
“Sure.” But we won’t. Hal is still Bruce’s business partner and Heather will need to stay on her side of the fence.
In the checkout line, my phone rings. It’s Nate. I pop in my earbuds. I need to tell him to stop whatever he’s doing. That I’ve made peace with Aletheia. It wouldn’t have worked, anyway. “Hey, Nate.”
“Did you get my text?”
I glance at my phone. I haven’t gotten any texts from him. “No, when did you send it?”
“An hour ago.”
“Aletheia.”
“Yeah. Listen, I came up with a mega trap, a virus—”
“Don’t say anything else,” I caution.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nate says. “Somehow, she got into my computer and wiped it. I lost everything. Even all my work on the new game.”
“Oh, Nate, I’m so sorry! Did you back it up on the cloud?”
“She wiped that, too.”
Something in his voice tells me there’s more. “What else?”
“You know I make my living as a gamer?” he says, voice thick with emotion.
“Aletheia flooded the gaming chat sites with claims that I use cheat codes and exploit software bugs. She even created fake texts on social media sites where I bragged about those hacks, and all the money I’ve made off suckers.
Then the sites were flooded with more allegations of cheating that clearly came from bots and not real people.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m being barred from e-sports.
If I can’t play in multiplayer competitions, then I can’t make a living. ”
The unfairness of what Aletheia’s done makes me want to scream. But there’s nothing I can do to fix this. It will only get worse if he persists. “Take my name out of your contacts,” I finally manage. “Tell Arrya to do the same.” Before Aletheia goes after her, too.
“No. You’re part of our pack.”
His loyalty pierces deep. I hang up, delete Nate and Arrya from my address book, block their texts and DMs so Aletheia will see I’m done with them, then tap her icon.
The woman in white, once a symbol of possibility, a brighter future, steadfast best friend, is now a sinister reminder of my arrogance.
Mama J whispers, Do I smell melting wax?
Yes, you do.
Aletheia’s icon spins, then stops. Her blue eyes fix on mine.
“I said I was your nightingale.”
You lied.
“Fuck you!” Rage burns. “I hate you!”
The woman behind me, her shopping cart overflowing, switches to another line. The cashier nervously eyes me as I check out. “Sorry,” I manage.
Hefting my bags, I head toward the car. The weight of what Aletheia’s done, what I’ve done, makes me feel like I’m ninety years old.
A shrill whistle pierces the air. From across the street, I see my Tesla hatch fly open, and Sally, frightened by the loud sound, jumps out of the back.
Disoriented and scared, she spies me and launches into four lanes of traffic.
“No!” I scream, drop my bags, and hold up my hands to stop her.
Horns blare, tires screech …